


A Child is Born

by i_penna



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, phantom of
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 18:35:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17006991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_penna/pseuds/i_penna
Summary: It is the Feast of St. Nicholas and a special gift is on the agenda for Erik and Christine.





	A Child is Born

A CHILD IS BORN

“Oooo.” The sound comes from Christine’s mouth before she even realizes it is her voice. “Aaah. Aaah.” Her arm wraps itself on pure instinct around the child who still dwells within her. Not the usual kicks or activity the girl, Christine is certain that she carries a girl, is wont to display – most often in the middle of the night, particularly when she and Erik are wishing to experience some special loving. If this is a portent of the future, Christine realizes that she and the child will be having some serious conversations about privacy and respect for the rights of her parents.

Carefully putting down the bowl, holding the dough that was to be a loaf of her special cardamom bread, on the stone counter, she waddles – her mode of walking these past months – to one of the cane-backed chairs that surround the small kitchen table.

It is still hours until dawn, but Christine insisted that they – the family she and Erik had created for themselves – all gather to prepare the feast, decorate their home and open one gift. Another celebration would be held on Christmas Day – that would include church and more gifts. The Feast of St. Nicholas was primarily for children, but with the imminent arrival of their child – she determined that both days be celebrated.

  

_“Are you certain you want to do all this, in your condition?”_

_“This is because of my…our condition. This is a beautiful time of the year and our child must know all of it.”_

_“You will be a wonderful mother.”_

_“You will be a wonderful father.”_

_“Of that I am not as certain as you. I shall do my best. My experience with these events is limited.”_

_“All the more reason to be extravagant now. She was unkind and mean – a horrid person. I shall not allow you to ever feel that way again if I can help it.”_

_“What would you wish for the dinner? Turkey, ham, beef?”_

_“All of them…”_

_“Turkey it is.”_

Pushing aside the assorted food items laying out, being readied for the afternoon meal  – bowls of apples and potatoes, Brussel sprouts, peas and beans – several patisserie boxes of sweets – primarily her favorite macarons and Adele’s meringues – she presses her hand against the edge of the table, assisting herself into the chosen chair.

“Erik!” she calls out. “Adele! Meg!”

Erik, his hands covered with tinsel remnants he tries to shake loose while dashing into the kitchen from the sitting room, finally rubbing them on his maroon brocade jacket. “What is it? Are you all right?”

The aquamarine eyes full of both tears and light – pain and anticipation – need no verbal explanation.

“The baby?”

Christine nods. “Oooo. Oooo.” Her eyes widen as she looks down. Much of her breaking water is absorbed by her favorite blue chambray dress, let out to the point where additional fabric had to be added to accommodate her growing belly. Still a small puddle forms at her feet. “I think it is most definitely time.”

Adele and Meg rush to join Erik in the kitchen.

Meg assesses the situation and runs to the sink, gathering up some towels to blot the floor. “Be careful where you step.” Completing her task, she moves aside, taking the cloths to the sink to rinse out. “All cleaned up.”

“Did I make a mess?” Christine asks, trying to see, but her bulk obstructs her view. “I am sorry, it just…happened.”

“No, there was no mess. You did nothing wrong,” Meg assures her, holding the back of the chair as Adele joins Erik in lifting Christine back to her feet.

“Nadir – come in here please,” Adele calls out.

“What? Oh, the baby.” Adele stands aside as he and Erik form a cradle with their arms, positioning themselves under Christine, lifting her up. “Careful, now, careful.”

The two men shift themselves around, figuring out the best way for the three of them to get through the narrow door.

“One of you has to go through backwards. Erik you. Now turn a bit so that Christine’s legs do not hit the frame,” Adele directs them.

“Aaah.”

“Soon, my dear, soon – there, we are through.”

The sitting room is warm from the blaze in the fireplace. Decorated from floor to ceiling in red, green and gold – fabrics reminiscent of the Hannibal slave girl costumes – the festive nature of the season is in full display. A small tree in one corner glows with candles and gifts of all sizes and shapes are strewn around the room.

Darius strings golden beads along the branches of the tree. When he sees the small caravan, he puts down the beads. “What can I do?”

Dr. Gerard rushes through the kitchen followed by Darius and Madame Gerard. “We had expected to come a bit later in the day for dinner, however, babies do tend to have their own timelines. Thankfully, my dear Elyse, is a trained mid-wife. This was not our expectation…”

“This is perhaps the happiest event that could have happened. I have not attended a birth in years, but would be grateful to be here for you and Madame Christine,” Elyse interrupts, handing her navy blue cloak and hat trimmed with silver ribbons to Meg. “Here are some gifts. I suspect we shall be here beyond the time we anticipated. Oh my, what is this, candied fruit? I must say the decorations are…interesting. I myself prefer blues and silvers…”

Meg forces a smile and curtsies, taking the garments to the spare bedroom.

Emile Gerard removes his own black top hat and coat, draping them across the red velvet settee. “Elyse, please.” To Erik, “Where is the lovely Madame Christine?”

“Her water broke,” Erik tells him as he directs the white-haired doctor and his wife to the bedroom and attempts to follow them in. “That is good is it not? She will give birth very soon?”

“Yes, it is good. We shall hope for a speedy delivery.” Gerard brushes past him to see to Christine, lying on the four-poster, the white and pale blue damask draperies pulled away from the bed. Adele completes placing pillows to prop her up and has situated her in the birthing position. “Excellent, Madame Giry.”

She nods and steps back, folding her hands over the ruffled apron that covers her dove-gray dress, awaiting instructions.

“Oh, no, M. Erik. Men are not allowed,” Elyse scolds him, pressing her hands to his chest attempting to push him gently back out the door.

Christine observes the activity around her, eyes wide and frightened. “What is happening? Where is Erik going?”

“The doctor is a man,” Erik retorts, gently removing the older woman’s hands. Moving past her to the bed where Christine lays. “It is all right – we are just discussing details. Not to worry.”

“I shall be leaving as well,” Gerard advises. “Elyse and Mme. Adele will tend to the birth.” He smooths Christine’s hair from her forehead. “What you will do is boil some water and provide as many towels as you can gather.”

“It appears that Adele has provided the linens.”

Perspiration coats Christine’s face, her brow furrows in its own rhythm in tune with the arching of her back. “Erik?”

“I am here, my dear.” Pulling the bench that sits at the end of the bed around to sit on, he takes her hand. “I am not leaving.” Turning to glare at the horrified faces behind him. “You just squeeze my hand as much as you need. I shall be here.”

“Nadir,” Adele calls out. “Boil some water. Someday I will discover what the water is used for – tea, perhaps – after the birth.” Before leaving the room, she kisses Christine on the forehead. “You will forget the pain.”

“Then I suppose you wish me to stay as well?” Gerard asks, as he removes his jacket and rolls up his sleeves.

“Yes – she will have the best. There is hot water in the bathroom for you to wash your hands. There are also some disinfectants provided.”

Gerard laughs. “I am fully aware of the need for cleanliness, M. Erik, but I am pleased that you are as well.”

 

The time moves in fits and starts – quickly when Christine has contractions and the pain has her cry out – slowly when the baby still does not crown. Erik sings softly to Christine, the song they wrote from their wedding:

_And all my days will be twice as fair,_

_If I can share my days with you._

 

Christine visibly relaxes at his voice – breathing more easily until the next contraction and her fingers dig once again into his hand.

“Ah, at last,” Dr. Gerard announces. “Now you may push, Madame. The little one has decided to make its appearance.”

Erik smooths her hair, damp and curling even more than usual. He raises her forward, helping her help the baby into the world.

“Good. Good. Push again. You are a good mother. Push. Yes. We have the head, all perfect so far. No need for forceps.”

Christine turns to Erik. “I am a good mother.”

“You are indeed.”

“Aaah.”

“Push, once more. Here we are. Yes. Once more. Good, good. Ah. You have a girl.” As he holds the baby up – the infant lets out a forceful cry. “Give me a few moments to clamp and cut the cord. We do not want to do it too soon. “Elyse, the instruments, please.”

“She has good lungs,” Erik says. “That is a solid G.”

“I told you,” Christine says, catching her breath, sinking back into the pillows. “I knew we would have a girl. A beautiful girl.”

Erik stiffens. “We do not know if she is…beautiful.”

“She is beautiful – however her face looks,” Christine contradicts him. “She will sing just like her Mamma and Pappa – I know it.”

Having cleansed the baby, Elyse wraps her in one of the blankets Christine has prepared and lays the newborn in her mother’s arms.

“Oh, Erik, she is beautiful, in all ways,” she says, holding the baby so he can see. “Look at your daughter.”

Leaning closer, Erik places a finger next to a tiny fist. Belle Angelique grabs on to him. A gentle laugh escapes his lips as tears fill the amber eyes and flow down his cheeks. “I think she likes me.”

“Yes, I believe she does.”


End file.
